


Paragraphs

by yeaka



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A moment of aftermath.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	Paragraphs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Age or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s dozing in and out, comfortable and pleasantly sated, if a little messy in the afterglow. The sheets are damp in places and stick in others, glued to Hawke’s cooling skin by sweat and release, but that’s a problem for the morning when he has the strength again to stand. Fenris’ often more fussy about that, but in the moment, he seems content to lie on his back and eye the shadows dancing across the ceiling. His eyes are still dilated, lashes halfway down, but awake; Hawke can see the starlight playing off them. They’re beautiful, like every part of Fenris.

Without thinking, Hawke rolls that tiny bit closer—just enough to brush his lips over Fenris’ cheek. Fenris blinks but spares no more reaction. Hawke’s mouth opens wider, and his next kiss is large and purposeful, sloppy— _hungry_ —Fenris does that to him.

Fenris turns his head slightly aside. It’s not _quite_ enough to escape Hawke’s affections. Fenris murmurs in that deep, alluring voice of his, “I think this has been our least successful reading lesson yet.”

Hawke’s chuckle is muffled against Fenris’ jaw. “I apologize. I got distracted.” It’s a constant struggle when Fenris is around. Hawke demonstrates his point by kissing down the side of Fenris’ neck and emerging over his throat, tongue tracing the intricate carvings that mar his dark skin. A palpable shudder snakes through Fenris’ body, rippling beneath Hawke’s touch. A sharp hitch of breath, and Fenris’ handsome face turns to bury in Hawke’s hair.

Just in case, Hawke asks, “Does that hurt?” He would’ve hoped that if it did, Fenris would’ve said something sooner—preferably before they threw an hour away, rolling around together. Then again, Fenris can be entirely too private with his pain. Fenris’ hand stirs against Hawke’s side. Even that slight brush of fingertips is a helpful reassurance.

“No,” Fenris answers, so quiet it’s hard to hear. “At least, not when it’s you. Not now.”

Hawke tentatively lifts a hand to touch the winding scars that paint Fenris’ am. There’s the faintest flicker of blue light, gone again before Hawke can even be sure he saw it. Fenris half tells, half asks him in a hushed, disbelieving whisper, “Why is it so _thrilling_ when I have you there, of all places? When did it come to this?”

Hawke doesn’t answer. He’ll never understand the marks well enough, never fully grasp the agony behind them. All he can do is respond to what Fenris tells him; and he does that by placing a tender kiss over the swirl on the side of Fenris’ slender throat. A deep moan spills out of Fenris’ parted lips. Hawke reaches over to kiss them.

He mutters across them, “Perhaps I should teach you the letters this way, then.” He traces the first across Fenris’ bare shoulder, feather light. The skin there isn’t as sensitive as the parts laced with lyrium, but Fenris’ lips still twist with a rare grin. Hawke knows exactly how unique and hard-earned those are. They’re always devastatingly beautiful.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the mind for any further learning tonight,” Fenris sighs. “Unless, of course, it has to do with what pleasures a free man might seek in the body of another.”

Hawke’s answering grin is downright wolfish. “I think I might have a few more of those tricks to pass on.”

Fenris makes a noise of obvious interest. He rolls suddenly onto his side, pressed up against Hawke’s body, pressing closer everywhere he can. One soft thigh urges its way into Hawke’s lap, stirring Hawke’s interest from half-mast to full. Hawke answers with a kiss, and the book remains on the nightstand, forgotten.


End file.
